The First Warmth

As I walked into the dark room,

for the first time

I felt a man’s hand

touch my face so gently.

He kissed me

with all the passion he carried,

and in that first kiss

I felt the full warmth of love.

I did not know

it was not forever.

He came to my chambers

only to hold me tightly in his arms.

And in that closeness

I believed in something endless.

I knew his beauty—

not because I only saw his face,

but because there was a beauty inside him

that I felt only I could see.

His dark eyes

rested softly against my skin.

His breath was gentle.

Everything about him

was warm.

But he was not

who he showed me later to be.

It is beautiful,

and tragic,

how people can be

both more

and less

than who they first appear to be.